


Closer

by intotheruins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Cuddling, Fingering, First Time, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Sick Fic, Sick!Dean, caretaker!Cas, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 15:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1987542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intotheruins/pseuds/intotheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel helps Dean get through a cold, and Dean helps Castiel understand his urge to be closer to the hunter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closer

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by outofperdition. Thank youuuuu!!!

The Sahara Desert was in the midst of a windstorm. The air screamed its fury into the sands, whipping small grains into a frenzy. The sky was blackened with millions of individual granules, and in the center of the chaos stood an unnaturally still figure. A khaki trench coat flapped and strained against the arms that held it, and on more than one occasion Castiel almost let it fly. He wasn't sure why he was here. His search for God had taken him everywhere, but the amulet resting against his chest had yet to burn. He lifted a hand and pressed it against the necklace through his shirt. There was no need to wear it. Castiel could have just as easily stored it in his pocket, but there was something deeply satisfying about keeping a piece of Dean so close to his skin. 

A particularly fierce surge of the wind raged against Castiel's form. Despite his weakened grace, the angel didn't budge against an onslaught that would have killed a human. The skin of his vessel was raw and red, repairing more slowly than usual, but Castiel didn't mind the pain. It reminded him of how close he was to being human. How much this vessel had become his own body, and how he was beginning to crave these human experiences. 

A sudden sound caught his attention, like a tiny explosion rippling through the wail of the wind. It came again, a little louder, followed by a colorful curse and a long, wet snort. The angel cocked his head, waiting for further sounds. It should disturb him how connected he was to Dean. Angels weren't meant to link themselves to anything beyond their siblings. Dean should have been as inconsequential to him as the churning earth beneath his feet. Yet here he was, thousands of miles away, listening to the hunter as though he were standing right beside him.

Another little explosion, and before Castiel realized what he'd done he was standing beside Dean's bed, in a single motel room in California. 

Dean was lying flat on his back. His eyes were closed. Crumpled, white tissues were scattered around his body and on the floor. His nose was an angry red, but the rest of his face was pale, and his breathing was more labored than usual. Castiel reached out to brush his fingertips across a sweaty forehead, a concerned frown lightly furrowing his brow at the unusual level of heat radiating from Dean's skin.

“The f--!” Dean lurched beneath him, one hand diving instantly for the blade Castiel knew he kept beneath his pillow even as his eyes flew open and straight to the angel's face. The movement caused several balled-up tissues to bounce and leap from the bed, dropping down to join their discarded siblings. “Damn it, Cas! Don't do that!”

The phrase caused a memory to flash through Castiel's mind, of green eyes meeting his in a mirror, Dean whirling to face the angel with those same words on his lips. _Personal space_ , Dean was always saying, but the angel couldn't grasp the concept. He wanted to be close. He wanted to be as close as he could possibly get, and it confused him to no end. 

“My apologies,” he said gruffly, because he never knew how else to respond. “Dean, what's wrong?”

The hunter let out a quiet grunt and fell back against the pillows. Immediately, Castiel placed his fingers against Dean's forehead again, wishing fervently that he could still heal. “You're too hot,” Castiel murmured. The concern coating his voice in layers, with a depth he'd never possessed before, was still so new to him. Sometimes he wished each new emotion was something he could hold in his hands, something he could touch and smell and _study,_ but a part of him somehow knew that would take the strange thrill he experienced away from him.

Dean weakly reached up and batted at Castiel's arm even as he turned his face into the touch. Castiel didn't point out this contradiction. Dean seemed uncomfortable expressing his need for any kind of affection, and even more so when someone tried to talk to him about it. “Just my face,” he grumbled. “The rest of me feels like a damn icebox. Stop touchin' me, will ya? It's just a cold. Humans get them sometimes.”

Castiel ignored him. He'd learned that was usually the best way to deal with Dean, as he was too stubborn to accept help when it came to himself. With his waning power, Castiel was able to determine that Dean had a low grade fever, nothing to be concerned about, and that the sickness had set in due to stress and Dean's refusal to take proper care of his body. He suspected the fact that Dean and Sam were still separated also had something to do with it.

Letting his hand fall away from the hunter's face, Castiel crossed to the sink and took one of several plastic cups he found beside it. He filled it with water and took it back to the hunter, who stared uncertainly at it for several seconds before heaving a sigh and forcing himself into a sitting position.

“Thanks,” Dean muttered, his tone somewhat reluctant and grateful at the same time. He downed the contents in one shot – along with the next two cupfuls the angel brought him – before finally setting a fourth on the bedside table. 

“Look, I'm fine. You go look for god, or whatever.” Dean tried to wave Castiel off, but the angel paused, frowning. He didn't understand why he was doing this. He knew Dean would be alright, the sickness wasn't threatening. He just wanted to help. He wanted to take care of Dean, since Sam wasn't here to do it for him. No... no, even if Sam had been here, he would still want to. It was another way to get close. There was a thrill in knowing that Dean trusted him enough to allow the angel to take care of him. If he were honest, there was just a thrill in being _near_ his hunter, though he used the word 'thrill' loosely. It was the only way he knew how to describe the strange rushes, the tingles and the flares of heat that his body experienced in response to his emotional state. 

Dean confused him. Castiel confused himself. 

Continuing to ignore Dean's protests, the angel bent down and began to untie the hunter's boots. Dean looked down at him, frowning as the angel tugged off first one, then the other. “You're not going to go away, are you?”

“No,” Castiel answered decisively. He pulled Dean's socks off, too, and then threw them in the trash when he saw how threadbare and frankly disgusting they were. How long had it been since Dean washed them? He'd get him some new ones, he decided. He didn't think Dean would mind if he stole them. “Sit up.”

Dean paused, as though deciding whether or not to put up at least a token protest. He let out a grunt and did as requested, putting up no resistance when Castiel pulled off both his coats. 

“Would you be more comfortable with your jeans off as well?” Castiel asked as he pulled the covers back on the opposite side of the bed. 

The angel looked up, asking with his eyes for an answer, and was surprised to find that Dean's nose was no longer the only thing that was red. There was a flush blooming across his cheeks, and Castiel cocked his head, watching curiously as it spread to his ears. Could his own body flush like that? Did it feel hot? The angel almost reached out, going so far as to prepare a line about curiosity and human reactions when all he really wanted was to touch Dean. 

“Er... I'm fine, Cas, just...” He waved the angel away and crawled under the covers, pulling them up around his chin. “Thanks,” he murmured in the same way he had before. Reluctant, yet with genuine gratitude. 

Castiel wondered why he was so hesitant to accept help. He gave it so often, so freely.

“I'm sorry I can't heal you,” Castiel said, hoping his regret was clear in his voice. He'd experienced emotion as an angel, but it had been limited and pure. Now, with every new layer of complicated _human_ emotion, Castiel felt... so many things. Excitement, something he enjoyed very much, but also confusion. How did he communicate what he was feeling? Dean seemed to bottle his feelings for the most part, relying on his body language, but Castiel had a hard time understanding that as well. What did it mean to use your body to speak? 

“Not your fault,” Dean answered tiredly, and Castiel jumped slightly. He'd nearly forgotten he'd spoken.

Castiel waited a moment, watching as Dean's eyes slipped closed, before he flew to the nearest store. It was closed, and Castiel used his limited power to black out the cameras. He took a bag from behind the counter and filled it with things he needed, including a pack of new socks for Dean. There were so many human things he didn't know or understand, and yet remedies for a million different ailments were stored within his consciousness. He knew right away what would make Dean feel better, and it wasn't the medicine this country seemed so fond of. 

Dean's chosen motel had a tiny stove, and Castiel took advantage of it. The hunter slept soundly through vegetables being chopped and Castiel discovering that onions made human eyes burn. He allowed the resulting tears to run freely. The sand had burned his skin as well, but in a different way. Every sensation – emotional and physical – was so complex, and Castiel found himself fascinated by it. He let the searing pain sting at his eyes, experienced it entirely, and in the end he just cleared away the wetness with the back of his sleeve.

By the time Dean woke again, Castiel was sitting on a chair beside the bed with a steaming mug in his hands. The hunter's face contorted into an odd, scrunched expression Castiel could only guess was disgust. To be honest, the angel couldn't blame him; the concoction smelled terrible. 

“The hell is that?” Dean muttered thickly, waving a hand towards the cup. He winced and reached for more tissues, blowing his nose loudly. That answered the question of the snorting sound, at least. 

“Just drink it,” Castiel said in answer, passing the mug to him. “It will help you heal.”

Dean struggled into a sitting position. He sniffed dubiously at the yellow contents of the cup, then took a cautious sip. His face immediately contorted into a disgusted expression again. “Is that garlic?”

“And onions,” Castiel replied with a nod. “In chicken broth. All of it will help to fight off your flu.”

Dean gave him a sidelong glance over his mug, and then chuckled suddenly, shaking his head. “You would know _that._ ”

Castiel cocked his head in question, but Dean did not provide any further information. Was he referring to the constant references that were beyond Castiel's understanding? 

Referring to references. Castiel was often slow on the up-take, but that struck him as amusing. He let out a quiet chuckle, his lips quirking just slightly at the corners. Dean glanced over the rim of his mug with a pleased kind of surprise, and it gave Castiel an odd warmth in his chest. 

Dean finished the soup quickly, and then drained the water on the table in what Castiel suspected was an attempt to wash out the taste. “That better work, that was disgusting,” Dean muttered. He set the mug down on the table and started to swing himself out of bed.

“What are you doing?” Castiel stood, ready to push the stubborn hunter back down, but Dean rolled his eyes and waved a hand towards the bathroom.

“Relax, Cas, I won't keel over.” He stood, somewhat unsteadily, and Castiel kept an eye on him as he made his way to the bathroom and shut the door. He listened intently, but heard nothing other than Dean relieving himself and another long, wet snort. When he emerged his nose was even redder, and he was rubbing tiredly at his eyes. It gave the angel the strangest sensation, something warm and soft... protective? 

Dean reached for the empty cup, apparently intent on getting more water for himself. Castiel snatched it out of his reach and leveled a glare at him, one expression he was, apparently, exceptionally good at. Dean glared right back, but seemed too tired to argue. He crawled under the covers and watched, grumbling nonsense and curses under his breath, as Castiel refilled the cup for him. 

“Bitch,” Dean grumbled when he took the cup from Castiel, but the angel thought there was something oddly fond under the insult. He also recalled this was something Dean frequently called Sam, and there was a certain way to respond.

“Jerk?” Castiel murmured hesitantly. Dean froze mid-drink, his eyes going comically wide as he choked while attempting to laugh and swallow at the same time. Castiel took the cup from him and set it back on the table, reaching around to rub his back uncertainly. It seemed to help; Dean calmed after a few hacking, wet coughs, and he continued to chuckle weakly.

“That shouldn't be funny,” Dean said, and then he sniffed and suddenly let out one of those explosive sounds Castiel had heard before. A sneeze, the angel realized. “That shouldn't be funny,” he repeated thickly. “That's always been my and Sammy's thing, but...” He shook his head, sank back down against the pillows, and didn't resist when Castiel pulled the blanket up for him. “I dunno. Guess it's just 'cause it's you.”

He fell asleep at that, leaving Castiel to wonder exactly what that meant.

Dean slept soundly this time, and Castiel could sense that he was fighting off the virus more effectively now. He should leave, he thought. Continue his search for God. But he didn't. Instead he crept silently forward, sinking down carefully on the empty side of the bed. That need to be close was growing worse, and he didn't know how to ease it. The only time it was bearable was when he was in Dean's “personal space,” and even that wasn't close enough. 

Slowly, Castiel slipped onto the bed, sliding down until he was lying curled on his side, mere inches from Dean's tense face. The nightmares of hell were plaguing him again. Castiel reached up, pressed two fingers to his forehead and eased them away, glad that he could at least still manage this. The hunter's expression immediately relaxed, and a small smile touched his lips. The angel cocked his head, wondering what his dreams had become. Was he with Sam? His parents? A girl? The fierce curiosity drove the angel to touch his forehead again. He had to see, and he had no idea why.

Dream-walking had become difficult, but he was still able to view the visions of Dean's unconscious mind. What he found there surprised him. The hunter was floating on his back through perfect darkness, humming quietly to himself, and all around was a sense of being protected, sheltered.  _Loved._ Castiel shuddered with the power of it, understanding it because it was how he felt towards Dean. Or at least a fraction of it, a layer, so many levels of emotion – 

The hunter opened his eyes suddenly. Deep green met blue, and Dean  _smiled._

“Dean,” Castiel sighed, opening his eyes. He let his fingers fall away, and shivered at the odd sensation that flooded through him. Dean was dreaming of _him_. He felt protected because his angel was close. Was that why he was always pushing him away? Because it was something he wasn't used to, something uncomfortable in the light of day? It made sense, considering Dean's aversion to expressing his emotions. 

Dean's fever spiked around midnight, though he fortunately slept through it, and then died down until his temperature had returned to normal. Castiel continued to lay on his side, watching as Dean slept on peacefully, sinking even deeper as his body fought off the cold. He would feel much better in the morning, the angel assured himself. He would be fine. There was no reason for him to linger any longer.

He stayed.

He stayed until the first rays of the dawn broke through the curtains and fell across Dean's face, still smooth in sleep. The hunter's skin took on a golden hue in the early morning light, and Castiel found himself fascinated by the freckles on Dean's cheeks, the stubble roughening his jaw. He reached out, stroked his fingers lightly over the course, short hairs, then up to brush the skin just beneath Dean's left eye, marveling at the different textures. The hunter sighed gently, stirring just enough to turn onto his side facing the angel. He still didn't wake, so Castiel didn't stop. He let his fingers drift across skin and to the soft hair at Dean's temple, wondering why this seemed to ease his need. He felt closer, better, but it still wasn't enough. What was it his body wanted? No, not just his body. His very grace, his _soul_ was screaming for it, for something he'd never experienced before. It was driving him mad, and he had no way to know how to make it stop. 

Dean shifted again, and Castiel startled slightly when he felt an arm sling itself heavily across his waist. His fingers froze, partially buried now in Dean's hair, and glanced down at the appendage draped so casually across him. It felt right. Good, and the need eased back just a bit more. 

Something whispered in the back of his mind. Castiel paused to listen. Jimmy was greatly diminished, having been through too much trauma from being a vessel and from both their deaths at the hand of Chuck's archangel, and most of the time he wasn't even conscious anymore. Even when he was, he found it difficult to communicate, but sometimes he could get things across to Castiel in the form of feelings. He relaxed, trying to let Jimmy have some access to their form, and felt his fingers move again, delving more deeply into Dean's hair. Did Jimmy crave the closeness as well? It made sense. He had nothing, not even his family, and when he was aware Castiel tried his best to give the man who'd sacrificed his life and body for him _something._ If they happened to share that something, all the better.

Castiel was just getting ready to slip closer when Dean opened his eyes. He drew in a deep breath, wiggled his nose a little in a way that struck Castiel as amusing. He took another breath through it, looking relieved when he could do so with his mouth closed. Then he blinked suddenly, focusing, and his eyes slowly traveled to his arm where it was still tucked around Castiel. His gaze traveled up to Castiel's own arm, stretched between them, fingers still buried as deep as they could go in the hunter's hair.

“Got somethin' you wanna share with the class?” Dean drawled, eyebrows reaching for his hairline. 

“I don't understand that reference,” Castiel replied with a confused frown. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “I swear, one of these days I'm going to lock us in a room and make you watch TV until you start getting at least _some_ of my references. Why is your hand in my hair?”

“Why is your arm on my waist?” Castiel countered, feeling strangely defensive. He was painfully aware of the fact that neither one of them had moved, and that he was beginning to feel... odd. His body was tight, coiled, ready for something beyond his comprehension, and _hot._ Temperature was rarely a problem for him, even with his diminished power, but just then he could have torn off every article of clothing and still felt as though he'd been dipped in holy fire. 

Jimmy pressed a proverbial hand to the back of Castiel's head and pushed, using enough of his will that the angel's head actually bent forward slightly. Dean's eyebrows rose just a bit more, and Castiel frowned; what was it Jimmy wanted him to do? 

“I'm attracted to body heat,” Dean blurted out suddenly.

Castiel cocked his head as best he could against the pillow. Dean rolled his eyes. “When I'm asleep, I always roll towards body heat if there's another person in bed with me.”

Castiel met his hunter's eyes and without any power at all was able to deduce that this statement was only partially true. “You rolled towards me because it was me,” Castiel stated bluntly, and watched with fascination as that flush spread across Dean's cheeks.

“Shut up,” Dean growled. “Your turn. Why's your hand in my hair?”

“I don't know,” Castiel confessed, and he knew by the widening of Dean's eyes that his distress was clear in his voice. “I want to be close to you, but... I can't get close enough. I don't understand it. Jimmy is also pushing for me to be closer, but I don't understand what he's trying to tell me.”

“Jimmy?” Dean looked genuinely surprised at this, though Castiel noticed with curiosity that he did not remove his arm. “I thought Jimmy was dead.”

Castiel shook his head. “He was resurrected with me. He is rarely aware anymore, this body has become mostly my own, but when he is aware he shares my need for closeness.”

Dean said nothing, though Castiel could see thought swirling chaotically in his deep green eyes. Fingers twitched against the angel's back, and then suddenly the hunter was hauling Castiel closer, pressing their bodies firmly together from thigh to chest. The hunter's other hand came up around the back of Castiel's head and pulled until the angel was tucked under Dean's chin. Castiel let himself be manhandled, too startled – and admittedly pleased with the development – to do anything else.

“How's that?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“Better,” Castiel murmured, surprised. “It feels less urgent now. Why?”

Castiel felt one of Dean's shoulders shrug against his own. “I dunno. You looked so pathetic.”

Castiel huffed, feeling a very human need to object to that, but instead he merely shifted his hand from Dean's hair and let it settle against the back of his neck. “I thought this would bother you.”

“Yeah, me too,” Dean answered, sounding surprised. “Blame it on temporary insanity from being sick.”

Jimmy had once again faded away, apparently satisfied for now, but Castiel found he was only growing more anxious. He still felt hot, and too tight, and every time Dean's hand shifted against the small of his back he felt a strange, electric current across his skin. It felt good, better than good. He found himself pushing back into Dean's hand, rubbing his own fingers against the hunter's neck to see if it would make him feel good, too. And then something new, a... filling sensation, and suddenly Dean's body was tensing and his hand was tightening, and Castiel froze, fearing he'd done something wrong and the hunter would let go.

“Um... Cas?” Dean's voice was as tight as Castiel felt. “Did you just pop a woody?”

The angel tilted back his head and stared helplessly at Dean. “Are you referring to what just happened to my crotch?”

Dean snorted, and he looked torn between terror and amusement. “Yeah. That. It's... it's okay, I mean, you're still new to this whole human sensation thing, but, um... you might wanna go take care of it.”

Castiel continued to stare, feeling like a child and hating himself for it. “I don't understand.”

Dean sighed. “You know, jerk off? Play with yourself?”

The angel continued to stare uncomprehendingly, but he knew he was making Dean uncomfortable, so he shifted to move away. In doing so, he brushed his erection against Dean's hip. Even through the clothing, spikes of pleasure bolted through him, more physically intense than anything he'd felt since first taking a vessel. His body jerked, which pressed his dick more firmly against Dean, sending more of those sparks cascading across his skin.

“Ooohh!” Castiel bit his lower lip, trying to choke back the involuntary sound, but it was too late. Dean's eyes had widened, his fingers curling into the back of Castiel's coat. Probably getting ready to pull him away, Castiel thought distantly. 

“Cas...” Dean pushed himself up on his elbow, leaning over the angel, his green eyes dark with something Castiel didn't recognize. He shifted, and his hand pressed into Castiel's back, pulling him closer. He smiled, a tiny, honest, pure Dean smile, and it sent what Castiel now recognized as desire coursing through his blood. “S'okay, Cas,” Dean said quietly. “Go ahead.”

He spoke gently, almost like one would to a child, and Castiel wondered if that was how Dean was seeing him right now. It should have offended him, considering he was literally thousands of years older than Dean – but in human terms he was barely two, so perhaps it wasn't entirely inaccurate. 

“Dean...” Castiel trailed off, and when he felt Dean tug at his back again he let the body's instincts take control. He had permission, it as okay. His hips rolled forward, pressing hard against Dean's and grinding, and Castiel couldn't contain the shout that escaped him because it felt _so good._

“That's it,” Dean encouraged, and he even rolled his own hips against Cas, pressing close enough that the angel felt an answering hardness. “Shit, what am I doing...” he muttered, his head dipping with the volume of his voice.

“Don't make me stop,” Castiel pleaded, even though he knew he'd do just that if Dean asked it of him. No matter how good it felt, all Dean had to do was say no. 

“I won't,” Dean promised, and he ground into Cas again as though to assure him. 

Now that Dean seemed to be certain, Castiel let all thought slip from his mind. He rubbed himself furiously against his hunter, choking on the moans that kept trying to escape his throat, small, frantic things that echoed the growing feeling of desperation inside him. Dean kept murmuring encouragingly, his voice so low that Castiel couldn't understand what he was saying, but he didn't even care. The sound of the hunter's voice was hypnotic, as calming as it was arousing. The hand at his back lifted away and fingers trailed down Castiel's throat, and through the haze of lust the angel realized Dean was telling him it was okay to make noise. So he did; he let the sounds pour from him, breathed them into Dean's chest, his throat as he buried his face in it. 

“Dean, Dean, I...!” Castiel shuddered, a full bodied shiver that interrupted his rhythm. Something was building deep inside him, a weird kind of pressure, and he was at once eager to build on it and incredibly afraid of it. 

“S'okay, Cas, you're about to come, just ride it out...”

And suddenly the angel had to know, the desire so fierce that he actually stopped, despite his body's screaming protest. “Are you going to... come?”

Dean let out a hiss, and the hand still curled around the back of Castiel's head tightened, his other hand curving over Castiel's hip and down to cup his ass. “Yeah. Yeah, Cas, I'm gonna come too. Don't stop.”

As much as the angel was lost in his desire, knowing that Dean felt it as well – that Dean wanted to complete that circuit of pleasure with Castiel just as badly... it made Castiel lose his mind. He let his hips work against Dean's in a frenzy, knowing with certainty now that it made Dean feel just as good. He curled an arm around Dean's back and pressed himself as close as he possibly could without stalling his movements. It _still_ wasn't enough, but there were sparks dancing behind his eyelids and the pressure inside him was so close to release, so close... and then it broke, riding through him in waves, pleasure cascading through every part of him with such intensity that he screamed the joy of it into Dean's flesh. He was vaguely aware of something hot and sticky coating his skin, but it was forgotten when he heard Dean let out a soft, breathy moan, his hips grinding in small circles as he shuddered in Castiel's arms. He was still propped up on his elbow, so Castiel let his head fall back into the pillows, watching with awe as bliss painted his hunter's face. 

He wanted to see that again. To watch it over and over, to forget his own pleasure and make Dean come a thousand times. 

Dean collapsed abruptly, and it was his turn to have his face buried in Castiel's throat. His breath was hot and wet against the angel's neck, and Castiel shuddered again, still wanting him closer. How much closer could he possibly get?

“That wasn't how I intended to start this day,” Dean said, his voice muffled but still distinctly amused. 

“Is that bad?” Castiel asked worriedly, suddenly terrified he'd somehow misinterpreted Dean's responses. 

“Nah.” Dean heaved himself up onto his arm again, grinning down at the angel. “Kinda feel like I should be having a big gay freak out or something right now, but... I guess not.”

“Gay...?” Castiel trailed off as he tried to figure out exactly what happiness had to do with a “freak out”, a term he only knew due to long-term exposure to the Winchesters. 

Dean chuckled. “Gay means homosexual, you know, a guy who likes guys?”

Oh. That made more sense, then. “I see. You think because we came together that it makes you gay?”

Dean shrugged, and upon closer inspection Castiel was able to detect the confusion roiling behind the surface of his amusement. “Dean, human sexuality is not so simple. The drive to mate with the opposite sex is based solely on the need to reproduce, but it does not govern attraction on different levels.”

Dean frowned, and Castiel sometimes found a small amusement in the fact that he could confuse the hunter as much the hunter often confused him. 

“So...I just like you? That's it?”

Castiel nodded, and Dean shrugged again. “Huh. Okay.” There was a pause, and then Dean let out a bark of laughter and shook his head. “I can't believe I just came in my jeans.”

The angel glanced down at his own pants. His boxers were sticking to his skin, the material tacky and exceptionally uncomfortable. He reached down and undid the button, and Dean let out a sound so close to a squeak that Castiel's eyes whipped to the hunter's in surprise. 

“Uh, Cas, if... if you start takin' things off, this might go further.”

Heat rolled across Castiel's skin, sinking right down to his blood, his grace. Further. Yes. He wanted that, and the flush on Dean's face told the angel that he wanted it, too. So Castiel slid the zipper down and pushed the pants off his hips, sitting up to remove his shoes and socks before letting everything fall to the floor. To his surprise, Dean began to laugh again, and when Castiel threw him a questioning look the hunter pointed to the boxers that, until this moment, Castiel had never actually seen. They were covered in little pictures of yellow smiley faces, but Castiel failed to see why that was funny.

“Dude, five year olds wear stuff like that,” Dean said. “Tease Jimmy for me next time he wakes up.” 

All color drained from the hunter's face, and he met Castiel's eyes dead on, something he didn't usually do so willingly. “Uh...Jimmy...”

“It's fine,” Castiel assured him. “He wanted this too, though he is not aware right now.”

Dean looked like he was about to protest, but then he suddenly shook his head and held up his hands as though in surrender. “Fine, I give up.”

Good, Castiel thought as he shrugged off his coats and threw them on the floor. He reached up to undo the buttons of his shirt, but then suddenly Dean's hands were there, popping the little white buttons with quick precision before sliding the shirt from his angel's shoulders. The hunter paused when he saw his amulet resting against Castiel's chest, and without hesitating Castiel removed it and set it on the table beside the bed. For the angel, it was a symbol of Dean, but to Dean, it was a reminder of Sam.

The first touch of Dean's hands against his bare flesh sent new cascades of tingling heat through Castiel. He shuddered with the sensation, and he realized he was starting to grow hard again. Dean glanced down at the evidence tenting the angel's boxers and chuckled, though Castiel thought it sounded just a little nervous.

“You look like you're ready for round two,” Dean quipped. He let a single finger trail over the obvious bulge, making Castiel gasp and buck forward into his touch. 

“Dean...” Castiel trailed off uncertainly. He didn't know how to ask for what he needed, but that wasn't going to stop him from trying. “When I said I wanted to be close to you... I still haven't been close enough.”

Dean paused. He met Castiel's gaze again, and then sucked a sudden, sharp breath through his teeth. “Yeah. I think I know what you – ” he paused, swallowed hard in a manner Castiel knew meant he was nervous. “I think I know what you want.”

The hunter said nothing more, so Castiel just watched him – watched Dean's eyes trailing across his nearly bare form, watched as he gripped the hem of his t-shirt and yanked it over his head. He fidgeted with it a moment before throwing it over the side, and then he abruptly stood, putting some distance between himself and the angel. Castiel's eyes tracked to the scar on Dean's shoulder, the raised, red print of his hand. Not his current hand, but one he'd formed from his grace. Originally, it was a warning: _this man has been saved._ Now, Castiel felt a hot flare of possessiveness when he looked at it. Now, it marked Dean as _his._

“Okay, look, I've never really thought about doing this with another guy this way before, so...” Dean let out a hiss of frustration, kicking at the discarded shirt. There was a hitch in his voice as he said it, and Castiel knew with sudden, blazing clarity that Dean _had_ been thinking about him that way. It made Castiel feel warm in an entirely new way. The angel wondered just how many subtle variations there were to these emotions. “What we just did, that was... that was good, but I think what you want me to do... I could hurt you, Cas.”

Castiel shook his head. “You can't really hurt me, Dean. I feel what is done to this body, but you can't damage it.”

“That's not the point!” Dean shouted, and Castiel's eyes widened just slightly at the sudden, angry tone. “It's supposed to feel good, Cas.”

The angel cocked his head and finally admitted, “Dean, I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't even know what I want.”

The hunter groaned, collapsing back onto the bed with enough force that the mattress rippled beneath Castiel. “You keep saying you want to be closer, right? Well, the closest humans can get physically is sex, and two guys having sex means one has their dick up the other guy's ass.”

The description was crude, but Castiel let it roll through his mind anyway. His eyes widened when he realized exactly what that meant. “You would be inside me?”

Dean nodded. The confirmation sent a hot surge of arousal coursing Castiel. “You will not hurt me,” he said firmly, finally.

Dean frowned doubtfully, staring at Castiel for a long moment as though waiting for him to back out, but when he didn't let out a sigh and nodded. “C'mere.”

Castiel crawled across the covers until he was at Dean's side. The hunter's hand wrapped around the back of his neck, and then he was pulled abruptly forward into a soft, chaste kiss. It occurred only then to the angel that kissing was something humans usually did _before_ engaging in sexual activity, but nothing about the Winchesters followed humanity's guidelines for usual. 

Dean didn't pull away, so Castiel tried delving deeper. He let his instincts take over again, and they drove him to open his mouth and slide his tongue against the hunter's lips. Dean let out a low groan of approval and brushed his own tongue against Castiel's, quickly, playfully, drawing him in until the angel felt as if he was trying to crawl right inside Dean's mouth. This kind of kissing was hot and wet and _glorious_ , and suddenly he understood why humans were so obsessed with it. It was yet another kind of closeness, but it still wasn't as close as he wanted. 

That final thought drove Castiel to reach out and fumble awkwardly at the button and zipper of Dean's jeans. Dean chuckled into their kiss, but he didn't try to stop him. Castiel finally popped the button, and began to work the jeans down Dean's hips. 

“Here.” Dean sat back and lifted his lower half off the bed, letting Castiel tear the denim down those bowed legs easily. Castiel realized he was shaking, his eyes wide and frantic. When had the need become so intense? Had it been there all along, growing steadily worse when he'd finally chosen humanity... chosen _Dean_... over his siblings? 

“You okay, Cas?” Dean asked. He stroked the tips of his fingers over Castiel's cheek, and the angel let out a soft sigh, leaning into the affection packed inside such a small gesture. 

“No.” Castiel surged forward, knocking them both back onto the bed and rolling them over, sighing with a strange kind of happiness as Dean's weight settled on top of him. “You are not inside me yet.”

Dean chuckled again, but now he sounded nervous, and Castiel could see the emotion fighting for dominance behind a screen of flippancy. “We need lube,” the hunter said. “You know, something slick.”

Castiel frowned, and then hesitantly lifted two fingers and held them close to Dean's forehead. “May I?”

Dean frowned at him, then let out a resigned sigh and nodded. “Yeah, go ahead.”

A quick press and a dive into the hunter's mind presented the angel with what he needed. In seconds he had conjured up a bottle of the required substance, and Dean was blinking down at it like he'd never seen anything like it before. 

“Angel Express. Awesome.” Steady fingers took the bottle, giving away nothing of his nerves, and Castiel decided not to bring it up. It would only worsen the condition. Instead he hooked his fingers into Dean's boxers and tugged until the hunter lifted up. 

“Dean.” Castiel sat up as much as he could, his eyes sweeping over the bared form of his hunter, smiling with a strange kind of fierce pleasure when he saw the spots of semen drying in Dean's pubic hair. He flattened his hands against the outside of Dean's legs and dragged them upwards, running over skin rough with scars and so, so warm. Dean shivered, and now there was fear in his eyes. 

“Damn it, Cas, don't look at me like that,” Dean muttered, his green eyes darting self-consciously away from Castiel's open gaze.

“Like what?”

“Like I'm...” Dean paused, swallowed hard. “Like I'm worth something.”

Castiel removed his hands, but only to slap them into place on either side of Dean's face, forcing the hunter to meet his gaze. “You are worth _everything_. Do you think I would have rebelled against Heaven for nothing? That I would want to get this close to nothing?!”

Dean's head strained in his hands, his eyes flicking every direction but at Castiel, trying desperately to escape. The angel wasn't having it. He stared with every ounce of intensity inside him until Dean relented, relaxing, his nerves settling down into something less urgent. “Fine,” he muttered, still glancing away. “Whatever.”

Then green met his gaze, and Dean said, “Get your damn boxers off.”

If it hadn't been for the faintest smile growing in the corner's of Dean's eyes, Castiel wouldn't have let go. As it was, he let his hands fall from Dean's face and slid his boxers the rest of the way off, tossing them down to join their discarded clothes. Dean's eyes held his for a moment, the tiniest blush touching his cheeks, and then he slowly let his eyes trail downwards. When his gaze met with the evidence of both their desires, his blush deepened. Castiel felt heat pooling in his own cheeks, but he wasn't embarrassed. He liked the intensity in Dean's eyes as the hunter stared at his swollen cock. Castiel let his legs fall open shamelessly, pleased by the hitch in Dean's breath and the widening of his eyes.

“Wow.” Dean cocked his head just a bit. He reached down and trailed the pads of his fingers up one side of Castiel's cock, his eyes flickering with interest when Castiel's body jerked beneath him. The angel shuddered; the direct touch felt so much more intense than it had through their clothes. 

And then Dean started laughing. This time there wasn't anything nervous in the expression, just incredulous, and for some reason it made Castiel desperately want to glare at his hunter. So he did. It only made Dean laugh all the harder.

“What is it?” Cas asked, unable to keep the irritation from his voice. 

“Sorry,” Dean chuckled. “Just...wow, I just touched another guy's dick. That's just _not_ the patented Dean Winchester way, you know?”

Before Castiel could respond, Dean abruptly shifted back to sink down between the angel's legs. He wrapped his hand fully around the hard length, fingers slipping through tacky flecks of come. Castiel gasped as Dean stroked his hand slowly up and then back down, just once, and then the new and delightful sensation was gone. A grunt of displeasure escaped Castiel's throat before he even realized the sound had formed. The hand returned, curling gently around the base. Castiel pushed himself up onto his elbows so that he could see. Dean was just... holding him, staring down curiously and somewhat anxiously. His green gaze flicked up to Castiel's face, searching. The angel stared back, silently telling him to take whatever he needed, and he must have found it because suddenly the hunter was grinning. 

“Why not?” Dean murmured, and Castiel thought he was talking more to himself than to the angel. 

Then he wasn't thinking much of anything, because Dean's lips wrapped around the head of his cock. 

“Ah!” Castiel fell into the pillows, head flung back on an ecstatic cry. Dean's mouth was hot and slick, and there was a hint of teeth as he inched his way slowly down Castiel's cock. A tongue lashed experimentally against the underside, and Castiel shook with the effort of keeping his hips still. He didn't want to choke Dean, especially not when he was so new to this.

Dean slid up until only the head of Castiel's cock was in his mouth. He suckled messily, saliva drooling from between his lips and rolling lines of wet heat across sensitive flesh. The tip of his tongue swiped across the slit, then suddenly pressed into it, and Castiel's head began to thrash against the pillow as he moaned through clenched teeth. Long fingers curled into the sheets, and the wrenching sound of fabric being torn apart rent the heavy air. 

“Dean!” Castiel dropped the shredded material and reached down. He slid a hand into Dean's hair, telling himself just to hold, but Dean's eyes flicked to his and he nodded slightly. The permission had Castiel curling his fingers into short strands, gripping too tightly, but it was better than shoving himself down Dean's throat. The hunter's eyes watered, but when Castiel went to let go he smiled around Castiel's cock, and it was the most ridiculous and perfect thing the angel had ever seen.

_ I feel everything that's done to this body. _

It was true, he did, yet even with his diminished grace there were ways for Castiel to dull what he felt. Watching Dean slip down over him again – humming slightly so that vibrations danced lightly across his cock – watching the way he accepted, even seemed to welcome the pain Castiel _knew_ he was causing with the grip in his hair... it made the angel want to feel it all as he did. He closed his eyes, trying to focus around the spikes of pleasure Dean was bringing him, and sank into his vessel. He pushed the grace away, shoved it as far from himself as possible. 

At first, he barely noticed a difference. Then Dean pulled up again, and the edge of his teeth caught under the head of his cock. Castiel gasped at the sting, flinching away from and then towards it, fascinated by its intensity. He'd allowed all the pleasure through, he realized, but none of the pain, and he didn't understand why it seemed better this way. 

Maybe it didn't matter.

Dean pulled off completely, sucking in a deep breath and pressing back into the hand in his hair. Castiel loosened his grip. He bit his lower lip and gasped at the pain it caused, at the strange spikes of sensation it sent straight to his dick. Dean watched him with narrow eyes, his pupils blown so wide with lust that the angel could see only a faint ring of green.

“Sometimes the pain is good,” Dean murmured roughly. 

Castiel's body was shaking, straining between the angel's will to keep still and the need to have Dean's mouth back on him. “I'm supposed to be the one who reads minds,” he panted. 

Dean laughed, just a happy little thing, with none of the nervousness that had stained it previously. “You know what? This is fun. I thought this would be gross, but it's... I get why a lot of chicks get so into it now. Watching you lose control, knowing I did that...” Dean grinned wickedly, dipped down so that he could swipe the flat of his tongue across Castiel's cockhead. He chuckled when the angel cried out, his fingers tightening in Dean's hair again. “But that's not what you want, is it?”

Castiel was torn between nodding frantically and shaking his head, and got caught somewhere between the two. Dean grinned as he licked him again, swirling just the tip of his tongue around until Castiel was sobbing out wordless pleas. Vaguely, he was aware of a change in Dean. He wasn't just accepting this experience, he was craving it, opening to it. He could hear a new confidence in the hunter's voice as he spoke again. “What do you want, Cas?”

“You!” Castiel cried. His hands twisted into the sheets and tore them a second time.

“Nuh-uh, you gotta be more specific.” Dean sat back, and Castiel finally lost the battle with his hips and arched upwards, even more desperate for the touch in the face of Dean's obvious enjoyment. 

“ _Inside_ ,” Castiel panted. He rolled his hips once, watching with a burst of wanton delight as Dean's eyes locked on the movement. He felt exposed and vulnerable, and he _liked_ it. He pulled his legs up, bent them at the knee and let them drop apart. The body's instinct, it seemed, had taken over, and Castiel welcomed it. He lifted one hand and sucked a finger into his mouth, slurping at it the same way Dean had sucked at his cock. Dean was the one panting now, lips apart and eyes glazed as he watched Castiel reach between his legs and rub the tip of his slick middle finger across the puckered skin of his hole.

“I want you inside.” Castiel pushed the tip of his finger in, and he moaned at the strange feeling, at the idea that it was Dean's finger and not his own. “I want you to _fuck me,_ Dean, _please._ ”

The angel never heard the hunter move, but suddenly his wrist was pinned to the bed and Dean's now slick fingers were rubbing against his entrance, circling the sensitive skin without pushing in. Castiel grabbed the backs of his knees and pulled them to his chest, opening himself as wide as he could. 

“Tell me if I hurt you,” Dean growled insistently. The very tip of his middle finger settled against Castiel's opening.

The angel looked down his exposed body to the hunter's concerned glare, and asked softly, “What if I like it?”

Dean hissed through his teeth, his eyes slamming closed briefly before flying open again. “Then make sure I know,” he said, and slid his lubed finger inside. 

The first finger didn't hurt. It felt strange, thick and foreign, and oddly good. Dean was _inside him,_ and that was very good. Dean pulled back just a bit and thrust in again, gently. The slide against the sensitive rim, the feel of it against his inner walls, had Castiel biting his lip again as he let a ragged moan escape his throat. Dean smiled, encouraged by the sound, and thrust a little more forcefully the next time. The tip of his finger brushed something inside Castiel, something that sent lightening bolts of pleasure searing up his spine. Dean froze when Castiel cried out sharply, but the look on Castiel's face must have been a good one because he immediately relaxed.

“Was it this?” he pushed in as far as he could and rubbed the tip of his finger across that spot, deliberately this time. Castiel gasped, grinding his hips down and nodding frantically. 

“Yes, yes!” Castiel let go of his knees and grasped at Dean instead, fingers scrabbling for any kind of grip. “Again!”

Dean grinned and did it again, a little harder, watching as Castiel writhed against his hand. “That good, huh?” Dean slid a second finger inside carefully, and Castiel hissed at the slight burn. It added a new dimension to the strange pleasure, something he definitely liked. “Maybe, ah... maybe sometime you can do this to me.”

The thought of being inside Dean was just as exciting as the thought of Dean being inside him. “Yes,” he hissed quietly, and then he was crying out as the hunter attacked that spot with both fingers. 

“It's your prostate,” Dean said suddenly. “I've heard about people doing this, but I never really wanted to. Not until now, _god,_ Cas. I wish you could see yourself.”

Castiel almost wished he could see himself too, if only to understand how Dean was seeing him. 

A third finger made the burn stronger, but Castiel was beginning to feel filled, stretched and caught between the odd pain and the intense pleasure, and he definitely _liked it._ He made sure Dean knew with every roll of his hips, with the way his fingers desperately grasped at Dean's arms and the strangled sounds that flew from his open mouth. Dean's eyes were wide and wild as he watched his fingers disappear repeatedly inside Castiel's body, and the angel could somehow feel the moment the tension snapped and Dean could no longer stand it.

“Can I?” Dean twisted his fingers and then pulled them free completely.

“ _Please,”_ Castiel moaned. He threw his legs around Dean's waist as Dean lay over him, torquing his hips upwards in offering. He felt Dean's cock slide between his ass-cheeks and ground against it, wanting that fullness back. He'd never known how empty he was, and he didn't like it at all.

“Hang on, hang on,” Dean chuckled breathlessly as he reached down and grabbed the open bottle of lube. He squirted some into his palm, and Castiel watched with hungry eyes as the hunter spread it over his cock. The angel dug his heels into the small of Dean's back, tugging impatiently, and Dean let out another little laugh that was mostly air. 

The hunter gripped the base of his cock, and Castiel felt the head of it nudge his hole. It felt so much thicker than Dean's fingers, and Castiel wanted it all. He ground upwards frantically, and when Dean finally began to sink inside, the angel let out a deep moan that may have come from his very grace. The hunter dropped his head into the crook of Castiel's shoulder, panting wet, sharp breaths against his skin. His hips pressed flush against Castiel's ass. For a moment, both of them stilled. 

Castiel had only ever felt overwhelmed once in his existence, and that had been the moment Dean convinced him to rebel against Heaven. This felt nothing like that. This was hardness, and heat, and he felt so _full._ It was pain, and perfect pleasure. A long, low moan echoed from Castiel's chest as Dean pulled out, his hips stuttering upwards to try and take him back again. Dean's breath rattled shakily past his lips as he plunged back inside, and Castiel cried a mangled version of the hunter's name when he struck that spot again. 

“You okay?” Dean rasped, pausing his motions with visible effort. His arms shook, and when his wide green eyes met Castiel's, vivid with awe and pleasure, Castiel realized and accepted another emotion he had been unable to put a name to. It rushed through him, filled every part of him both physical and otherwise, and he thought he'd never felt this good in his existence.

Wrapping his arms around Dean's shoulders, Castiel lifted himself up and pressed his cheek against his hunter's. He closed his eyes, let the feeling rush through his vulnerable body, whispered it boldly into Dean's ear. 

“I love you.”

Dean froze, and then suddenly Castiel was crushed into the mattress as Dean wrapped his arms around the angel. “Me too,” he growled harshly.

Castiel smiled, joy penetrating him even more deeply than Dean was. He hadn't expected the hunter to say even that much. 

“Move, Dean.” They were pressed tightly against each other, but Castiel managed to cant his hips upwards. “Please, move.”

The hunter never said it aloud, but he filled Castiel with his concern _are you hurt?_ , with pleasure and disbelief _I don't_ _deserve this_... and Castiel responded, pushing his own thoughts into Dean's mind without thinking, never realizing before that he was able to do so... _yes, it hurts, but it feels just as good as it hurts, maybe even better for it and yes, Dean, you deserve this, let me show you how much..._

They began to move in earnest then, Dean rearing back up on his hands so that he could snap his hips fast and hard into his angel, Castiel rocking up to meet every thrust. The pain faded into a twinge that was almost swallowed by the pleasure, but even that tiny reminder in the background kept it a sharp pleasure, reminding him that he was experiencing this as a human would. Dean leaned down for a kiss, and for a moment their minds merged. They felt each other's enjoyment as much as their own, and Castiel felt that tightening inside him again that meant he was about to come. His cry was almost as much anguish as desire; he didn't want this to end. 

“It won't,” Dean whispered into his temple, and Castiel came. 

This climax was like nothing else he had ever felt, like his love had been given a physical form that ran so deep he could feel it in his grace. For a split second his entire existence was based around nothing but that pleasure, and then he was sinking back into the bed, his body going limp as a deep satiation settled inside him. 

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean groaned. His teeth dug into the meat of Castiel's shoulder. The angel felt Dean's cock thicken, and then a slight warmth as Dean froze, teeth tightening in Castiel's flesh. It felt strange, almost uncomfortable, and yet it was painfully arousing to know that Dean had come inside him. He'd left a part of himself there, marking Castiel as his own. The angel settled a lazy hand over the scar on Dean's arm, pressing into the mark of his own claim.

Dean collapsed, shaking. Castiel wrapped his arms around sweaty shoulders, holding on all the tighter when Dean tensed uncomfortably. Dean craved affection, but had only ever learned how to give it, in his own gruff way. 

“Okay.” Dean took a deep breath, and Castiel felt him force himself to relax. “Okay.”

Dean rolled to the side, gently pulling out of Castiel's body as he did so. A deep soreness was settling in, but Castiel didn't mind. It only reminded him of what they'd done, of what they would do again. He curled in closer to Dean, nuzzling his hair and breathing deeply. Dean chuckled, and Castiel felt him relax just a little more. They were both sticky, sweaty and disgusting, but neither seemed inclined to move.

“That close enough for you?” Dean asked with a tired chuckle. One arm came to rest across Castiel's back, curling in and bringing the angel as close as possible. 

Castiel was warm, his eyelids thick and his body heavy and relaxed. He would worry later, he decided, about the fact that he was falling asleep. Angels did not sleep. For now, though, it felt like a fantastic idea. He rested his forehead against Dean's, watching through slitted eyes as Dean's own lids slipped closed.

“I don't know,” Castiel said quietly, his voice warm, and lighter than he was used to. It felt good to speak that way, to know Dean had caused it. “I think we should keep trying.”

They fell asleep with quiet laughter huffing between them. 

\- - - - -

END

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this a few weeks before season 9 aired, so I had no idea what kind of boxers Jimmy/Cas wore at the time. Obviously I've had more than enough time to change it, but I thought it was a fun scene and decided to leave it. 
> 
> Please hit the kudos button or leave me a comment if you liked it! ^_^_^_^ *lots of hugs and cookies for people who do so*


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